Who Killed the Courier?
L'Estang's information caused me a certain amount of anxiety, and during
the next few weeks I was rarely abroad except for a ride in the broad
daylight. Cordel, who was still at home, occasionally came into the
village, but nothing happened that served to show he was pushing on his
plot.
Indeed, as Jacques pointed out one evening when we were discussing the
matter, the lawyer had a difficult game to play. He could strike at me
only outside the castle walls, while the villagers were my devoted
friends, and every man of them would be eager to put me on my guard.
But Cordel's threats had apparently ended in smoke. Week followed week;
the old year gave place to the new, and I remained unmolested.
About the beginning of February, 1572, I received another letter from
Jeanne, informing me that her royal mistress had finally consented to
journey to Blois, and that they would set out in a week or two at the
latest. She also added, in a brief postscript at the end, that Roger
Braund intended to pay us a visit before the summer ended.
About the same time a message reached me from Felix, who was at Blois
again, in attendance on our patron. The king, he wrote, was more than
ever fixed on the marriage of his sister Margaret to Henry of Beam,
though the Pope and all the Guises were bitterly opposed to the match.
"But the marriage is certain to take place," he concluded, "and then, if
not before, I trust Charles will see that justice is done you."
"'Twas from Monsieur Bellièvre, Jacques," I said, when the messenger had
departed with my reply; "he is at Blois once more. There is to be a
marriage between the king's sister and our Prince Henry, and the Court
is filled with excitement. Do you know, Jacques, I am getting weary of
this life. If we were at Blois I should have a chance of meeting the
king and pressing my claims. The longer we stay here, the more likely I
am to be forgotten."
"True, monsieur; in my opinion it was a mistake to come. When one is not
in sight, one is not in mind, and the Admiral has many weighty matters
to think about."
"I have told Monsieur Bellièvre what I think, and asked his advice. But
still, I cannot return without the Admiral's commands."
The next morning Jacques came early to my room before I had risen.
"Monsieur," he said, "will you get up? A strange thing has happened."
"A strange thing?" I repeated, springing from the bed.
"A man has been slain--at least I believe the poor fellow is dead--on
the highroad. Urie found him; he was not dead then, and had sufficient
strength to whisper your name. Urie declares that he said quite
distinctly, 'Monsieur Le Blanc!' so he had him brought here."
"Do we know him?" I asked, now thoroughly roused.
"He is a stranger to me. I have never seen him before, and he does not
belong to these parts. But one thing is certain: he is no peaceable
citizen."
All this time I was hastily dressing, and now, filled with curiosity, I
accompanied Jacques to the room where the wounded man lay. He was a
sturdy-looking fellow, in the prime of life, tough, wiry, and with
muscles well developed by exercise. His dress was that of an ordinary
trooper; he wore a long knife at his girdle, and Urie had placed his
sword, which was broken and stained with blood, by his side. The mark of
an old scar disfigured his left cheek, and his chest showed that he had
been wounded more than once in his life. Jacques was certainly right in
saying he was no peaceable citizen.
Urie had fetched the curé, who had bandaged his hurts, but the worthy
priest shook his head at me as if to say, "There was really little use
in doing it."
"Foul work!" I exclaimed; "the man must have made a desperate struggle
for life. Where did you find him, Urie?"
"Just outside the little wood, monsieur. The ground all around was
ploughed up by horses' hoofs, and stained with blood. I should say he
was attacked by at least three horsemen. I thought he was dead, but
when I bent over him he was muttering 'Monsieur Le Blanc'"
"Did he seem sensible?"
"I asked him several questions, but he did not reply, except to repeat
monsieur's name, so I had him brought here."
"It is very strange," I said; "he is a perfect stranger; I have never
seen him before. Why should he mention my name? Is it possible for him
to recover?"
"Quite impossible, my son," exclaimed the curé; "he is dying fast; no
surgeon could do anything for him. The wonder is that he has lived so
long. He has been fearfully hurt."
"Did you meet no strange persons in the village?" I asked Urie.
"Not a soul, monsieur. It was very early; the villagers were not yet
about, and the road was empty."
The wounded man groaned, and the curé partly raised his head, when he
seemed more comfortable. His eyes were closed, and his breath came in
quick gasps; the shadow of death was stealing across his face. Would he
have strength to speak before he died? It was unlikely.
Who was he? What was his secret? How did it concern me? These and a
dozen similar questions ran through my mind as I stood there watching
him die, and quite helpless to obtain the information I needed. Once or
twice he stirred uneasily; his eyes opened; his fingers strayed
uncertainly over the bed as if seeking something that had gone astray,
and presently he said quite distinctly, but very, very faintly, "Le
Blanc! Monsieur Le Blanc!"
"He is here," said the curé softly. "This is Monsieur Le Blanc. What
have you to tell him?"
I do not know if the man heard; his eyes remained open; his fingers were
still fumbling among the bedclothes; a frown clouded his forehead, and
presently he whispered, but to himself, not to us, "The note! I can't
find it. It has gone."
I bent over, him, placing my hand on his brow. "The note?" I said, "tell
me about it. Who gave it you? Come, who gave you the note that is lost?"
My question produced an effect, but not the one I intended. The angry
scowl spread over his face; the dying eyes filled with passion; the
voice became quite strong again as the man cried angrily, "I did not
lose it. I earned my money. It was stolen. They set on me--three of
them--they were too many--I--I--"
A great hush fell across us, and we gazed at each other blankly. "It is
too late," said the curé; "he has carried his secret to the grave."
"Is he dead?"
"Dead, monsieur."
"We must make inquiries," I murmured. "Urie shall show us the place
where he found the body. Come, Jacques, we can do no good here."
"I will follow in a few minutes, monsieur. I wish to discover if there
is anything by which we can identify the stranger."
Urie and I went out together, but the keenest search failed to help us.
The dead man's horse had disappeared, and his assailants had left no
trace behind them. I questioned the villagers closely, but none could
throw any light on the tragedy. The victim was unknown to them, and no
one had seen any strange persons in the neighbourhood. Jacques, too, was
at fault, having failed to find anything in the stranger's clothing that
would tend to solve the mystery.
"It is a curious thing, monsieur," he remarked that evening. "A dead
body on the highroad is not an uncommon sight, but this man was coming
to you on a special errand."
"It is evident he was bringing me a letter. The question is--did his
murderers kill him to obtain possession of it?"
"The note has disappeared."
"True, and I am inclined to think it was the possession of the letter
that cost him his life. Now, who are the persons likely to write to me?
My sister--but we can dismiss her--one doesn't commit murder for a page
of ordinary gossip."
"No," said Jacques, "I do not think the poor fellow was a messenger from
Mademoiselle Jeanne."
"There is Monsieur Bellièvre! He is at Court and aware of what is going
on there. Is it likely that he has heard some favourable news, and--"
"Ah, monsieur," Jacques broke in hastily, "our thoughts are the same.
These cut-throats are in the pay of Etienne Cordel, and in killing this
poor fellow they have struck at you. But how, I cannot understand."
"We know that Cordel has friends at Court," I continued. "Let us
suppose for an instant that the king has agreed to sign the papers; the
lawyer would learn the news quickly enough."
"Yes, monsieur," agreed Jacques, "that is so. But how does that help
us?"
"Thus. Monsieur Bellièvre or the Admiral writes, giving me the
information, and advising me to return. I arrive at Blois, or wherever
the Court may be; the papers are signed, and Cordel's chance of the
estates has vanished. He certainly might kill me afterwards, but it
could be only in revenge."
"But, monsieur, the news could not have been kept from you for long.
Besides, the journey to Blois would have given the lawyer the very
chance he wanted. It would have suited him better for the letter to have
reached you. Then his ruffians would have waited, and have waylaid you
on the road."
"He might not have thought of that!"
"It would not have needed much cunning, monsieur!"
"There is just one other solution possible," I said. "You remember the
man who came here on the night of the wild storm? You did not recognize
him, but--"
"I am hardly likely to forget the man who tried hard to kill both of
us!" interrupted Jacques.
"You have kept your knowledge very close then!" I replied.
"I had no wish to pry into your secrets, monsieur."
"It was not exactly a secret. Something happened while you were with
the Count of St Cyr. I had this man's life in my hand, and spared it."
Jacques shrugged his shoulders as if to imply that he had hardly thought
me capable of acting so foolishly.
"He is in Monseigneur's service, and, as you know, came to warn me
against Etienne Cordel. He promised, if he could ferret out the lawyer's
schemes, to write to me."
"Do you really trust this fellow, monsieur?"
"He bears no love to those of the Religion," I answered; "but for me
personally I believe he would lay down his life."
"Very good," said Jacques, as if argument was utterly useless against
such folly.
"I was thinking it possible that in coming to or going from Le Blanc he
was recognized. If so, the lawyer would be put on his guard."
"There is certainly something in that, monsieur."
"And if he sent me a warning message, it would be to Cordel's interest
to secure it."
"'Twould be easy to test the truth of the matter," said Jacques. "This
fellow will be with Monseigneur; let me go to him, and put the question
directly. In that way, if you are right, we shall get at the lawyer's
schemes in spite of his villainy. I will not loiter on the road, and I
don't see how any danger can happen to you before my return."
We talked the plan over, and at length I agreed that Jacques should
start on the journey the next morning. I gave him the name of my strange
friend, and he promised to get to work with the utmost caution.
"It is possible," I remarked, "you will find him at Blois, and in that
case you will have an opportunity of talking with Monsieur Bellièvre.
Tell him that Mademoiselle Jeanne is accompanying the Queen of Navarre."
He went to the stables, and I did not see him again until just before my
time for going to bed, when he returned looking gloomy and troubled.
"I have been thinking, monsieur," he said rather shamefacedly, "and I am
beginning to doubt the wisdom of my advice. If Cordel's ruffians are
close at hand, my going away will make their work easier. Now that it
comes to the point I do not like leaving you, and that is the truth."
"That's a poor compliment, Jacques!" I laughed; "evidently you don't
think I can take care of myself."
"The poor fellow they brought here this morning was as strong as you,
and had as much experience, but he is dead all the same."
"I will take care, Jacques; I will go only into the village, and if it
will make you feel more easy, Urie shall sleep here at night all the
time you are away."
He was somewhat relieved by this promise, and his face brightened
considerably.
"Let Urie bring an iron bar," he laughed, "and a man need wear a thick
steel cap to save his skull!"
I went to bed hoping to obtain a good night's rest, but the startling
tragedy had weakened my nerves more than I guessed, and I lay awake a
long time, wondering what the secret was that the dead man had carried
with him to the grave. Was he really a messenger from L'Estang? And if
so, what was the news he was bringing? I little dreamed that one of
these questions was to be answered within a few hours.
We rose early; I saw that Jacques made a good breakfast, and was
standing in the courtyard giving him his final instructions when we
heard the clatter of hoofs, and saw a horseman coming at a gallop up the
slope.
"Another visitor!" I exclaimed, "and one apparently in a desperate
hurry."
Jacques dismounted, saying, "He looks as if he had been frightened half
out of his wits. Stay here, monsieur, while I find out what he wants."
In a few minutes he returned with the man, who, jumping from his horse,
said questioningly, "Monsieur Le Blanc?"
"Yes," I said, looking at him keenly. He might have been own brother to
the poor fellow whom Urie had found by the wood. He was short but
strongly built; his face was scarred; his skin red and rough through
continual exposure to the weather. He carried a sword and a long knife,
and a pair of pistols peeped from the holsters. Plainly he was a man
accustomed to take his life in his hand.
"You have ridden fast!" I remarked, for his animal's sides were lathered
with foam.
"I was paid to ride fast!" he answered surlily; "my employer feared you
would have started."
"Started!" I echoed unsurprised, "whither?"
"He did not confide in me," the fellow replied, "and I didn't ask;
'twould have been no use. My orders were to ride for my life, to give
you a letter, and afterwards to guide you to a certain place mentioned
in the note."
"And who is your employer?"
"I had no orders to tell that; I expect he has written it down here,"
and the fellow handed me a sealed packet.
As he raised his arm I noticed a hole, apparently made by a bullet,
through his cloak.
"What is the meaning of that?" I asked.
"It means," said he grimly, "that had I not received orders to make no
delay on my journey, there would have been one rogue less in your part
of the world, monsieur."
"You have been attacked on the road?" I said, with a swift glance at
Jacques.
"The bullet went a trifle wide," he answered shortly, "but it came close
enough for my comfort."
"Well," exclaimed Jacques, "a miss is as good as a mile. Come and have
some breakfast, while monsieur reads his letter. Both you and the animal
need food and rest."
Leaving my servant and the messenger together, I returned to my own
room, and opened the packet. As I more than half expected, the letter
was signed "D'Angely." It was very short, but it answered one of the
questions I had been asking myself.
"Since sending my first messenger," it ran, "Monseigneur's business
calls me immediately to Poictiers; so I must meet you there instead.
Start at once; you can trust the bearer."
Directly Jacques was at liberty he joined me, and I handed him the
letter without comment.
"That clears up one point of the mystery," said he. "It is plain the
lawyer knows he has this L'Estang to fight against; but 'tis a pity your
friend does not give a hint of what is in progress. He might, for
instance, have sent a description of Cordel's tools."
"Very probably he did. You forget that this letter only supplements the
first one."
"Yes," said Jacques, adding, "will you go to Poictiers, monsieur?"
"I must. L'Estang may have something of importance to tell me."
"He could have written it," said Jacques. "I don't like this journey.
These assassins are on the watch. One messenger killed, and the next
shot at--we can be sure they won't let you pass free."
"There are three of us," I replied lightly--"you and I and L'Estang's
courier, and he seems well able to take care of himself. Let us get
ready while he is resting."